Queen to a God
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: (Tumblr Prompt) Could I trouble you to write about River's and 12's last night together on Darillium?


The Doctor supposed it was foolish of him to believe they'd truly spend twenty four years together. It was a long time, even for those with augmented life spans. Perhaps it was because of those longer lives that the smaller moments often got lost in the shuffle; he'd had some time to think on that very thought. If one could live for what amounted to forever in comparison to most of the species in the universe, would one not choose to seek out adventures?

Would one not choose to rummage through and toss out the mundane moments of life in exchange for those events that pumped blood vessels with adrenaline and made the mind expand? What was a day of walking along hill sides and picking up flowers to a pair who had seen the end of the universe? What was a night of counting stars to those who had walked among them?

Or should he crave that simplicity?

The Doctor found himself missing those innocuous moments for some odd reason he couldn't explain. Perhaps it was the three hundred years on Trenzalore protecting Christmas that seemed not so long ago. All of those days without the luxury of time travel where he was forced to live out the days in the lives of everyone he encountered. Where he watched babies birthed go on to crawl and then walk and then run and then dance and then birth children of their own to start the process over.

Perhaps it was the hole in his heart he had a hard time understanding. A longing for something he couldn't quite put a finger on, or a memory to, or a reason for.

He offered River what he offered so few – more than a snapshot of a time in retrospect; more than just a speck of her life with him. Less than what she deserved for the troubles she'd lived because of him. Just a little while of a normal life; just a little possible glimpse of a normal love. He imagined it was what she'd want, given the way she'd smiled when he'd told her a night was twenty four years.

The Doctor would give her that willingly and he would do all in his power to make sure they never tired of that night, or the song from the towers, or the walks on the hillside or the flowers they found or the stars to be counted in the skies. Maybe he expected they could; maybe he accepted he would.

If she hadn't chosen to leave.

"Did you know archaeologists are in high demand in some places?" She'd told him on what amounted to the second night of the third week as they picked themselves up out of a pile of what he hoped had been mud, off in search of a curious creature, fallen side by side into the muck as they'd run from it once it'd been found – obviously not wanting to be found.

He'd merely raised an eyebrow, going back to making faces at the stench, before tugging her free. Her dress seemed ruined, but her smile was as radiant as ever – happy to be caked in dirt with a pounding heart in her chest and an easy chuckle escaping her lips – and he watched with a grin, content in her happiness.

"Someone with my skill set," she'd continued, unaffected, "Could fetch a pretty prize for a simple trip to the library." She laughed then in a way that had become all too familiar to him over the years; deeply and lost in some memory of some tale she hadn't told him, just before she'd allowed, "Not to mention the travel perks – don't always need a Time Lord with a Tardis to get around the universe."

The Doctor had followed her, arms flapping slightly to sling away mud as he'd nodded in agreement, a small smile for the sly one she'd offered him. "You've never needed me to get around the universe," he'd pointed out proudly, watching his step as they made their way up a steep slope cut into the rocky landscape.

River had turned to land a curious look on him them, as though she were surprised to hear the words come from him and before he could question her, or assert the notion to her again, she'd twisted and declared, "We really must get out of these clothes. You smell absolutely _appalling_."

"Just me then," he'd teased, smirking at the devious look she'd aimed at him in return.

The Doctor touched the napkin at his table and he waved a hand, frowning and giving a shake of his head as a waiter appeared to refill his water glass. Maybe he'd come on too strong with the compliments too often and with too much honesty for her. Maybe he'd wasted too much time in his previous incarnation flirting and teasing and creating an air of illusion about their relationship – she wasn't used to the earnest way he approached her now.

She'd grown _suspicious_.

He smiled just a touch; she'd been suspicious of him for quite some time. It was to be expected, he knew, with the way he avoided Darillium and how close to an end her journal had travelled. He looked to her note, still enclosed in its slightly yellowed envelope and he wondered what her goodbye would say – because he knew it was a goodbye. He touched the edges and felt his hearts both drop painfully because he was ready to say it, but she hadn't given him the chance and the next time he got the chance, the goodbye wouldn't be the same.

River would be long gone and he'd be hundreds of years in his past, his mind half on the woman who'd just leapt into his time stream to save his life. Brow creasing against a momentary pang of remorse, he remembered how River had faded in front of his eyes and how he imagined that would have been the end for them. He smiled because he'd steeled himself then for the finality of their crisscrossing time lines and yet... somehow the universe had given them one last show.

"Sir," the waiter prompted. No doubt to fill his glass, or ask if he'd want a dessert, or a second meal, or a check.

"What is a queen to a god?" He pondered aloud, fingers tapping in a wave over the envelope with his name written neatly across it.

"Sir?"

Laughing lightly, the Doctor explained, "By all accounts, a queen should mean nothing to a god. Mythologically speaking, a queen's power would be derived by the divinity of the particular god in question, but when a god loves the queen who worships the god; the question becomes quite symmetrical, does it not?" He glanced up into the dark eyes of a young man with olive skin who stared back in confusion and the Doctor shrugged, "What is a queen to a god? What is a god to a queen? What is anything to anything anymore?"

There came a sigh as the waiter considered the questions before telling him quietly, "Nothing," and then adding, "And everything," and he filled the Doctor's cup with water in spite of his previous refusals, and finished, "Is a god even a god without the adoration of a queen?"

Bowing his head, the Doctor chuckled and pointed in appreciation before telling the man, "I am no god, but she is most certainly a queen."

"Perhaps then," the man offered politely, "She _is_ a queen, and you are but a man."

"Perhaps," the Doctor replied, nodding as the man moved away. He looked to the stars beyond the towers and he watched them fade out one by one as the sun began to rise, sliding the envelope towards him to pick it up and pocket it. He knew it was foolish, but he gave her twenty four years.


End file.
